Who Would Have Thought
by Arcer
Summary: Oneshot. A short piece I wrote, Warning: 4 in the morning, on a whim as a result of too many latenight episodes of Ouran High, which I am very fond of. Slight, very slight?, angst. Rather pointless. Read anyway.


One-shot, a piece written VERY late at night, around 4 a.m. to be exact, the result of too many online episodes of Host Club. Just a short one about Tamaki's reaction to some changes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who would have thought?

The scratching from Kyoya's pen nearby seemed to drown out all other noises until finally Tamaki turned with a pained look. "Mom, could you go do that someplace else?"

"What's the problem, Dad?" answered the other boy smoothly, adjusting his glasses so that late evening sun reflected off them. Late evening, because they had all stayed behind after school hours due to a Hitachiin prank gone awry, resulting in the total demolition of one corner of the room. They would have gone and left it to the maids, of course, but a certain outwardly androgynous but endearing member had insisted they clean up themselves.

"Nothing," the blonde King grumbled as he turned back to the window and shifted restlessly. "But first the doppelgangers, now you…" Speak of the devil, one of the two, Kaoru or Hikaru—he couldn't tell which—carelessly bumped his shoulder as he went whirling past, and Tamaki made no attempt to readjust his position from where he'd been pushed into the window. He hung his forehead against the glass dejectedly.

"Come now, Dad," said Kyoya, pausing his writing to smile that odd Kyoya smile that only he possessed. "You can't possibly still be hung up on Haruhi?"

At the mention of Haruhi's name, the twins appeared as though through magic on either side of Tamaki. "What are you talking about, Milord?" One of them prodded. "Yes, tell us if you're having lecherous thoughts about our dear Haruhi again," the other added.

"Shut up, you two," sighed Tamaki wearily, as the heartless Kyoya resumed tapping numbers into his calculator with long fingers, ignoring his plight. To his surprise, the Hitachiin brothers actually obeyed, though after a few moments the Suoh heir discovered to his irritation that the presence of two silent twins at either shoulder was just as, if not more, disruptive to his thoughts as that of two loud ones.

Silence. Tap, tap, tap. Scratch, scratch. Tap some more. It was intolerable, but Tamaki couldn't think of anything he could do. Now Hunny and Mori had joined them as well, the smaller one a bouncing ball of energy that at the moment was bouncing in a rather subdued way, his caretaker a tall dark shadow hanging slightly behind, somewhere to Tamaki's right. The only one in the host club that surpassed his considerable height of 6'1", today Tamaki found even Morinozuka's stoic existence grating somehow.

It was only for few moments that something—it couldn't have been said what—held all of them there like a thread from a spider's web, but it seemed much too long. After a beat or two time sped back up to its normal speed, and Hunny pranced off with his long-suffering rabbit in tow, with Mori, looking resigned and even more long-suffering than the bunny, trailing behind. The twins broke away, poking an insult or two at their brooding king in unison, as usual, and once again it was only he and Kyoya at the window. But they'd all seen the same thing—one petite, slim figure, down in the courtyard below, chatting happily with a slightly taller figure in the golden light of the setting sun.

"I suppose that's the way it is, isn't it?" sighed Tamaki, turning his head so that one cheek still lolled against the glass, looking at Kyoya.

Kyoya paused again, and to Tamaki's surprise, actually set down his clipboard and calculator on a nearby end table, slipped off his glasses, examined them and began to polish them with the corner of his uniform blazer. "I don't know what you're talking about, Dad," he said lightly, the expression on his angular face unreadable, actually even more so without the glasses.

"Dad" turned again to stare out the window. His usually princely visage was marred with an odd look that was not quite disappointment and not quite bitterness, and not quite the beginnings of a rueful smile. "You can pretend all you want, Kyoya. I know you're thinking the same thing I am." The black-haired boy raised his head and gave his companion a look that Tamaki saw out of the corner of his eye, and hastily mended his statement. "All right, maybe not the _same_ thing. You've always been the more practical thinker, Mom. But you know… I thought it would be different, you know? Who would have thought…" he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I mean, of course I wanted it to be me, but I knew all along it might not have been. If it had been you, Kyoya, or Mori, or even one of those dratted twins… but to think!" He pressed his fist against the window in a way that could not quite be called slamming.

No one had expected it to happen. But after almost a year in the Host Club, Haruhi had announced that she had a boyfriend, matter-of-fact as could be, typical of her usual behavior—only this was _not_ a usual occurrence. At first everyone was dumfounded, even disbelieving. Mori accepted it first, of course, with a low "Mmm" of assent and rumpling of her hair as he passed. Hunny was next, smiling all over and telling her how great he thought it was. The twins were rather stunned, but it seemed to have hit Tamaki hardest of all. Their president had apparently not expected that in the end, it wasn't one of them that she had chosen, but a complete outsider—someone that the Host Club had never even heard of (perhaps with the exception of Kyoya, who kept data on so many obscure people it was almost frightening). Tamaki had moped around in shock for a few weeks and refused to come to terms with it, but the fact remained that Haruhi was being truthful and seemed perfectly content and happy with her relationship. It had even had the effect of bringing out a few more effeminate qualities in her, which served to torture Tamaki all the more. After a while the prince hadn't seemed to know what to do with himself and spent the days alternately moody, unnaturally cheerful, and hysterical.

Kyoya knew him—knew who he was, at least. Fukushima Tadao, a high school sophomore that lived in Haruhi's neighborhood. He went to a local, ordinary-ranked public high school three miles away from home, had slightly better-than-average marks, and was "handsome," "tall," "an excellent young man," "reliable"—the list went on. Haruhi's father had gushed at length about his newfound "future son-in-law" until Kyoya had grown disgusted and hung up without the information he had called for.

After a long moment of quiet, Kyoya put his glasses back on. He almost thought Tamaki was not going to say anything more, but then the King sighed and straightened. "I've just been an idiot, is all," he murmured, more to himself than to Kyoya. "I was a conceited idiot. And that is that." With this, he pushed himself away from the window and walked over to his usual spot on the couch to sit and watch the antics of the other members of the Host Club.

Kyoya glanced down into the courtyard, where Haruhi had now apparently said her farewells and was walking back towards the school building. He smiled, a little, his unique enigmatic smile, and delayed his fingers a moment in reaching for his clipboard again in order to keep his gaze on the figure below for a second or two, until she disappeared from his vision. A few minutes later, he heard the door open, and without turning completely he saw Tamaki dance delightedly towards her, his happy, dumb attitude back, mostly if not exactly the way it had been before. He saw Haruhi's surprised and pleased expression at the return of their idiotic King.

They'd all been in love with the silly girl in their own way, he supposed, and they'd all paid for it.

Well, as long as the cost came from heart or head or wherever and not from his bank assets, he thought vaguely, dismissing the whole incident with a shrug of the shoulder and resuming his work.

_Tap, tap, tap._


End file.
